


Missing Him

by Atunenamedclara



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Loneliness, Other, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atunenamedclara/pseuds/Atunenamedclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara Oswald. Alone with her thoughts. Of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Him

I miss him.  
I miss him with every fibre of my being.

I miss the smaller things about him, the things you don’t notice until it’s too late to ever notice them again.

The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the slight way he rolls his letters when he gets excited. Or angry.

  
I miss the big things about him, the things that make him who he is, the things that hurt so much to miss that it feels like I am dying again and again and again.  
I miss his arms and his smell. The way he felt when I hugged him, the way he felt when he pulled me back from some dangerous near death adventure, the pressure in his arms and the feeling of knowing that as long as he is there to catch you, you will always be safe.

  
I miss the comfort I find in knowing I am safe and secure. From the moment I took that chronolock of Rigsy I have felt shaken to the very core of my existence. I miss safety, I miss being in the direst of situations but knowing it will be ok because he will always be there.

  
I miss him.

  
I miss laughing because I couldn’t help it and smiling until my face hurt.

  
I miss sleepless nights spent running through forests on forbidden planets and I miss seeing sunrises over silver lakes.

  
I miss the simpler things. Talking until 3 in the morning about the places we’ll see and the things we might find. I miss morning coffee turning into afternoon tea because we lost track of time whilst sitting under the Parisian sun in 1653.

  
I miss the bigger things. I miss the adrenalin and the rush, the thrill of the chase, the blood rushing through your body pushing you to do bigger things, better things, dangerous things.

  
I miss the hot blooded arguments we would have, both of us too proud to step down and admit we were wrong. I miss not apologizing, slamming doors, getting lost in corridors, sobbing in corners until he comes to find me.

  
He always apologized.  
It was always my fault.  
I wish I could tell him that.

  
I miss him.  
And he won’t ever know I exist.


End file.
